Getting . . . Educated

The exhaustion of and loss of strength from the previous day's unexpected sex encounters may have accounted for my tennis match the next day, but it's just as likely that Ben was just a much better tennis player than I was. He agreed to let me try to recoup the loss and set up another match for two days hence.

As I had hoped, we were the only ones in the graduate gym shower room when we went in to shower and change. I quickly showered while Ben lingered in getting undressed. He hit the showers after me, and I soon figured out why. I was sitting there on the bench in front of the lockers when I got a side view of him at a corner shower head. I swallowed my breath and almost my tongue. It wasn't enough that the young man was an Apollo, but he was horse hung as well. A good eight or nine inches, and it was standing very much at attention now.

He looked quite sexy with that tan line that had been established with a very skimpy bikini brief. The contrast between dark tan and light skin was almost as if he was wearing briefs but transparent ones that permitted the viewing of his full package. As I watched, he masturbated himself. It was all I could do to keep myself from masturbating as well. And I was still telling myself that I wasn't queer, I just had gotten in with the wrong bunch and couldn't extricate myself.

He shot off and his cock started to deflate, but he must have noticed me watching him, because he came over, a towel wrapped around his middle and red from embarrassment.

"I'm so sorry you saw that, Ron," he stammered out. "It isn't what you think. I've got this medical condition, you see. I usually have a doctor who takes care of it, but I haven't found one here yet. It's this condition where I build up sperm too fast and have to be milked regularly, or I get a hard on that won't go away. It can be very painful."

"Yes, I guess so." Especially when you're hung like a horse, I wanted to add. "But, no worries, Ben. I know all about that condition."

"You do?"

"Yes, of course. I worked as a physical trainer and physician's assistant when I was an undergraduate. And I worked for a doctor who had patients like that he had to treat. I know all about it." I was finding it quite easy to tell the big lies. I continued, "In fact, if you haven't found a doctor by day after tomorrow, I think I can help you with that."

"You can? Okay, that would be great. Because this hard on has been driving me crazy."

I hope I know someone else who it will drive crazy too, Ben, I thought to myself. Boy, these freshmen can really be naive.

That night Lance tried to put his moves on, but I wasn't having any of it and he just went back to his bed and noisily jacked off, covers off, hoping I was watching. I couldn't help myself; I was.

Surprising everyone, I didn't lose the next team punch event. I didn't win, either, but, hey, a draw was better than getting fucked. The guy was a surly Hispanic with an attitude—not that there was anything wrong with being a Hispanic, and a surly dude of any ethnicity was to be avoided at all costs. He was pumped up with steroids or something that made him look like a professional wrestler, and he had a whole display of tattoo that covered one whole half of him. It came down from his skull—he had half of his head shaved and the hair on the other half drooped down into his eyes. The tattoo descended his neck, covered the left half of his torso and his left arm, and descended down his left leg after making a detour around the root of his cock. It was a rather intriguing design, but I wasn't all that interested in getting a better look at it.

He had a ring in his eyebrow, in his lip, in his right nipple, in his navel, and, most shocking of all, in the foreskin of his penis, which was a pretty respectable size and uncut. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a gang-banger comic book, and I was mighty glad I didn't lose my match to him.

For some reason, I was able to keep him from pinning me and I just wore him—and me—out until the coach called the match. The gang-banger was furious, gave me an evil "I'll get even" look, and marched off.

I was feeling on cloud nine when I went off to my tennis match with Ben, and I almost won a set from him. When we got to the showers, I saw that his condition was bothering him again—kinda bothered me too in a different way.

"You found a doctor for that yet," I asked, my heart in my throat.

"No. They don't exactly advertise it in the Yellow Pages, and I'm afraid I'm too embarrassed to ask around." Then, after a pause, "But did you say you might be able to help?"

"Yes, I possibly could. It would be a little irregular and I don't want you to get any ideas, but I do know and have performed the procedure. I could try helping you until you can get a regular doctor. I wouldn't want this to sour anything between us in our study arrangement, of course. I only offer it because I know how painful that is, and how hard it is to talk about and to get help for."

"Well, I don't know," Ben said.

"Of course, it sometimes helps if someone else does the masturbating, you know."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, it is a sex condition. Your body obviously wants more than you can get. The doctors I worked with told me that the body's production can be fooled into thinking you're getting enough action and just produce less if the stimulation comes from someone else. Again, this is just medical stuff. I wouldn't want you to think otherwise."

"Well, I guess I could try that; if you'd be willing, of course. I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

"Well, I'm game if you are. Get on back in the shower." I left my shorts on just so he wouldn't be spooked, and went into the shower with him. Standing close beside him, while the water spilled over the both of us, I took that gigantic tool in my right hand, and slowly jerked him off to ejaculation. I made sure not to make any other gesture that took the action beyond what he could convince himself was clinical and in his best interest.

He thanked me profusely afterward and chastely turned away from me in the locker room to dress, although I sensed that there was something else in his eyes when he looked at me that hadn't been there before this milking job. We set another tennis date; we already were meeting regularly for study.

"Well, I do hope that helped, Ben, and that you're able to find a doctor soon. If it doesn't, of course, I could always give you a prostate procedure after our next tennis game. My doctors always combined it with a body massage so the patient was relaxed. There are private massage rooms here no one uses, and I'm sure we could do it here without fanfare."

"Well, I don't know. I certainly don't want to impose. We'll see when the next tennis match comes around."

That evening when I was going back to the dorm from the library, I heard this motorcycle rev up as it came down the street, and it slid up beside me. I looked around, and, Oh, Lord, it was the gang-banger. All decked out as a nasty biker. Big Harley or some such, leather pants, leather boots, leather captain's hat, and leather vest, but no shirt.

"Now, look, I'm not interested in any trouble," I said, as I moved away from him a bit.

"Hey, Hot Shot," he said, "Coach Seeman said I could have you for the evening. Hop on the cycle behind me."

What could I do? I climbed onto the bike behind him. I tried my best to keep from touching him with my pelvis, as we roared off, but I had to wrap my arms around his bare, steely midsection.

We didn't motor for long before he pulled up to a large corrugated garage building. He had a device in a pouch hanging off his cycle to zap at the door to make it open, and then he zapped it closed again when we drove into the building. He ran his cycle right up to a clearing in the middle, under some gymnastic arm rings, stopped it and kicked down the kick stand as he hopped off. He went over to the side and picked up a pile of leather material and tossed it at me.

"Here. Strip and put these on." It dawned on me that he must have come out specifically looking for me. I tried arguing with him, but he kept repeating that he had Coach's blessing for whatever he wanted to do to me. Did I want him to tell the coach I wasn't cooperative?

I stripped. My new costume was composed of a leather harness crisscrossing my chest, leather chaps, leather boots and thick leather wristbands lined with fleece.

"Come over here and get back on the cycle, turned to the back, your back on the handlebars. When I'd done that, he quickly attached a long chain to my right wristband, threw the chain through one of the gymnast rings overhead, and attached the other end to my left wristband. There was some give in the chain, but I couldn't bring my hands and arms to in front of me. He then attached shorter chains through rings in the ankles of my boots to something in the wheel of the motorcycle on either side.

I was doing quite a bit of objecting at this point, so he plopped a rubber plug into my mouth, which had straps that permitted it to be tied off behind my head. I was fully at his mercy now, and he wasn't in a merciful mood. He stripped his own pants off then, and stood there in his leather vest and boots—and that busy tattoo and all those metal rings piercing his body. He already had quite a hard on.

He walked over to me and threw his leg over the bike and was sitting on the seat, facing me. He ran his hands over my torso and thighs and stroked his own cock until it was hard enough for him, and then he tilted my ass up with his hands on my butt cheeks and entered me.

"Nice tight ass, and nice tits, Hot Shot. Gonna fuck you until your eyeballs are swimming in sperm. There, you want me. I'm in and you're pulling me farther in. Can't get enough of me, can you? Been eyeing me for weeks, haven't you? Ah, made you moan, made you flinch, made you pant. You haven't had a man until you've had me, have you?"

I could feel the ring on his penis head dragging across my prostate and jangling against my ass walls. I was much too angry about the whole setup, though, to consider whether this was an added sensual benefit or not.

And he pumped and pumped and pumped. When he was about to blow, he withdrew, stood up, and sent his sperm flaying all over my chest and belly. He disappeared from my line of sight for a minute and came back with a damp cloth and wiped me down, and then he wiped himself down. He did this all in silence. I was ready to just get out of there. But he wasn't ready yet. He kept moving around the garage, working himself up for what I'd learn was the finale, recharging his load.

He came over to me and wrapped a leather ring, with studs around the base of my cock. The I saw him encase his own cock in some sort of sheath and strap something around his head and over his mouth, that look like big lips. He moved his lips up and down, making sure that the device moved with him. Then he again threw his leg over the saddle and facing me. It wasn't long before I learned what his new lips were.

The lip device was charged somehow, with batteries or something. It emitted a low-level electrical charge that registered at just above the tingle stage. It did have an electrical zap feel to it, but only just at the threshold of being painful.

The gang-banger removed his vest, and I were mesmerized by the rippling of his muscles as he started to kiss me with those lips from my neck to my underarms and biceps, across my chest to my nipples, and down my sternum to my belly, navel, pubic region, and cock and balls, sending slight electric shocks into me wherever it touched. Pleasure mixed with pain, causing me to jerk slightly with each touch of the lips. Electric pinpricks to my tender inner thighs, on my butt cheeks, across my perineum, on my balls, and firmly applied to the rim of my asshole. I jerked and jumped with each touch.

Then I found out about that sheath covering his cock. He tilted up my ass with hands under my butt. His cock slid into me again, and I found that the sheath was electrified too. But the voltage here was higher. He was manually operating the jolts somehow, applying the first one as he slid over my prostate, causing my whole torso to lift off the bike handles and sending me into spasms that had barely subsided when the second jolt hit me, all along the ass canal some five inches down; another half inch and another jolt. His lips went to my nipples and held onto them, one after another, sending electrical shocks into me there, six and half inches in and another, stronger, more prolonged jolt. It lifted my torso off the bike and took him with me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and rode with me, giving the muffled shout through his electrified lips, "Whooeee! Ride 'em, Cowboy!"

Seven inches in and a jolt that made me pass out.

They found me on the dorm steps later that evening, fully clothed and my books beside me. Thinking I had just passed out from too much drink, they hauled me in and tossed me in my bed.

The next day I had a conference with Coach Seeman, who quite agreed with me that there were limits to this arrangement. I never saw or heard of the gang-banger again.